LA PRIMA DONNA
by Shrike
Summary: Germany, fem Italy, Austria, Prussia, France, Spain... a love triangle - political intrigues story, beginning on an opera night. Rating is M for things to come.
1. VIENNA

This story is a work of fiction and no insult is intended to any countries mentioned. I hope you will have as much fun reading it as I have (and am still having) writing it.

LA PRIMA DONNA

1.

A limousine briefly halted before opera's grand entrance and attendant's white gloved hand reached for the car door, opening a view of the baroque façade to its passengers. With an umbrella held high above their heads, he ushered the guests across a narrow red carpet towards well lit antechamber. A tall blonde man exited first, took the offered umbrella and dismissively nodded to the attendant. Another one followed, lean and somewhat less robust, but with an unmistakable resemblance to the other one's facial features. He was fiddling with his cravat, absorbed by finishing an intricate knot, and ignored attempts of the blonde to walk beside him and shield them both from rain. He didn't seem to mind the drizzle as he stalked towards tall glass doors that were already being opened by inconspicuous servants as he approached.

In the hall warmed by antique fireplaces unobtrusively positioned throughout the vast room, an elegant dark haired figure that stood close to entrance observed the sight, managing to look both bored and appalled at the same time.

"I see you decided against the common practice of wearing a bow tie with a tuxedo, like the rest of the world." he remarked when Gilbert was within earshot.

The other man grinned. "Not everyone is afraid of this new thing called experimenting. You should try it sometimes, cousin. You might end up surprising yourself." He winked and the host snorted, speechless.

The blonde caught up with his brother and was considerately shaking rain drops off the umbrella, slicking his hair back with his free hand. He looked around, recognizing several acquaintances and neighbors clad in their best apparels, granting polite smiles to some of them. "Good evening, Roderick." he slightly bowed his head before the host, "Thank you for inviting us."

"The pleasure is all mine." Roderick's head gave a measured dip in return. They shook hands, while Gilbert rolled eyes at their exchange of formalities.

"Ludwig, Gilbert." Roderick looked pointedly at the latter. "Thank you for coming. You are just in time, please follow this way." He deftly guided them through colorful and chatty crowd, clouds of their perfumes and cacophony of their accents to abundantly decorated staircase which gently arched above their heads. "Your box is the last one on the left, with the best view of stage. I should know, it is the one I personally lay claim to." With a thinly masked pride, he ceremoniously indicated left with one of his arms clad in lace and heavy fabrics. "I shall be joining you shortly, after I tend to few last details."

The two brothers started climbing the stairs, slowed down by a cluster of ladies with towering white wigs, clothed in intricately designed and equally unpractical dresses. "I didn't know Rod was gonna sit with us." Gilbert grumbled, loud enough for Ludwig to hear. "Now I will really have to watch the whole thing through." Both turned and looked down to see Roderick standing in the middle of the hall and ringing a crystal bell, indicating the programme was about to begin.

"And why is he the one ringing the bloody bell? Isn't it already enough that he wrote the whole damn opera?"

"This is important to him, he wants everything to be perfect." Ludwig quietly explained, laying a hand on his brother's forearm. "Remember, we are his guests of honor at Vienna State Opera. We mustn't deface us, and him, before other nations. "

"Like I care!" Gilbert's retort acquired them both disapproving looks from ghostly powdered noble women in front. Ludwig blushed and, with a lot of muttered apologies, squeezed his way upstairs between their extensive dresses and artistic balustrade, leaving his brother behind. Silk-wallpapered, narrow corridor he entered curved to right, following outer rim of building's inner space. With footsteps muffled by a thick carped he rushed towards the end, in direction of the stage, keeping his gaze to the floor to avoid eye contact with other guests so he almost ran down the woman that suddenly found herself in his way.

He stopped within inches from her, clearly seeing helpless terror in her dark eyes. She opened her mouth but a scream seemed stuck in her throat. A few seconds passed with his tall frame towering over her, his cold blue eyes regarding her face. He then backed off, shocked even more by her appearance. Unlike other attendants, this one particularly stood out, lacking a luxurious gown and matching jewelry that belonged to this place as naturally as ornaments surrounding him.

„Io sono spiacente." a soft, trembling voice somehow found its way out between her lips. She didn't dare meet his gaze. „Permesso..."

Ludwig stepped aside without a word, unexplainably thrown, and she slipped by, almost running, with locks of dark, wavy hair trailing behind her.

He stared after her, without realizing. What was a girl in such plain clothes doing here? Such a girl…

"Isn't our box further down?" Gilbert's voice startled him .

"Yes, a little bit further." he nodded.

"Well, let's go then. If we get there after maestro, we will never hear the end of it." The silver haired man stalked onward, leaving his brother to try and catch up.

2.

The first act was halfway finished when Roderick leaned in and whispered into Ludwig's ear.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, profoundly.", instead of Ludwig's answer, Gilbert's sarcastic voice made him frown.

Ludwig sighed and shook his head. "It is a solid piece of work, cousin." he whispered back.

Roderick's face lit up, "Solid, yes, but nothing special."

"I didn't mean…" Ludwig started defensively.

"No, you are quite right!" he lifted a hand to stop him, earning an exaggerated 'shhh' motion from Gilbert, which he ignored. "It would be nothing spectacular," he continued more quietly, leaning conspiratorially closer to Ludwig, "without a trick I have up my sleeve. See, I have managed to take the best that our and Italian operas had to offer, combining it all in one piece. How is that for fear of experimenting, Gilbert?" he taunted with an uncharacteristic gleam in his eyes that was discernable even in semi darkness of the opera box. Ludwig couldn't recall if he ever saw the dark haired man smile so genuinely.

"After this recitative… there, listen to this aria!"

Abruptly the orchestra fell silent and a woman's voice, smooth and clear as bell, filled the vast space. Ludwig could barely believe his eyes, "It is her…"

"Oh, so you have met Felicita already?" Roderick inquired, eyebrows raised.

"Felicita?" he let the foreign name slide off his tongue, as if he wanted to savor its taste.

"The very music you are now enjoying, my discovery, my Italian jewel, my precious mezzo soprano, born and schooled in Venice. This is her debut in German language, her big day!"

Ludwig nodded and focused on the soloist standing alone in the lime light and singing with unearthly voice. Plainness of her costume, for he now recognized it as one, only emphasized her natural beauty – frail stature, pale skin, dark hair. So different from his Teutonic appearance and more similar to Roderick, his southern cousin. He couldn't make out her eyes clearly from this distance, but he remembered them all too well, their meekness, their depth.

A male figure then approached the lone singer on stage, eerily similar in appearance, and seamlessly joined her song, giving it a rich and stunning sub texture. The orchestra followed and added its palette of sound to tapestry her voice had begun to weave.

Ludwig turned to ask, but Roderick already anticipated the question. "They are unbelievingly alike, aren't they? That is Romano, Felicita's brother." he explained in a vexed voice, "Quite unmannerly fellow, bad tempered as a mule. I was bound by a contract to take them either both or none at all. Luckily for me, he proved to be not as bad as I expected."

They listened in silence for a while.

"Of course, to the real star, his shine barely compares."

3.

Roderick excused himself in the middle of the last act, making sure he is present on stage to give flowers to his lead singers and to take a bow again and again, since the audience could not get enough of them, calling them out over and over with their standing ovation. Nobody needed to wait for tomorrow's newspaper to learn the piece was a big success. The word of mouth was already spreading, praising the orchestra, the singers, the author, but mostly the charming prima donna.

Afterwards, attendees mingled into a noisy crowd as they descended into the main hall down twin stairways. Vigilant servants were already fetching limousines, coats and furs for their masters and mistresses, making their departure as quick and discreet as possible.

As lights went on and dispelled magic of the opera, Gilbert and Ludwig lingered stuck at the back, waiting for the crowd to clear out. The blonde wasn't talkative as usual, but his brother knew him well enough to recognize distinct silences that surrounded him.

"So, do you want to go get her?" he couldn't stop sides of his mouth from turning into a smirk as he asked.

"Get whom?" Ludwig asked in return, his eyes focused elsewhere.

"Ah, don't think I didn't notice the way you ogled her all evening long!" he put a hand on his brother's broad shoulder and gave it a firm, benevolent shake, "I would be surprised if you heard any music at all, bro."

"What are you…" he felt his skin tingle as redness climbed up his neck to his cheeks. No matter what he said, this treacherous sign would reveal the truth. He hated losing control, even in front of his brother. "Regardless, we cannot 'get' her! You cannot just go and take anything you like."

Gilbert shrugged, unconvinced but unwilling to press on, and moved towards exit. "Just remember, bro." he added, without turning back, "If I noticed, so did Roderick."

"What are you saying?" Ludwig insisted, his frown darkening as well as redness of his face.

His brother's fiery eyes met his, for once without a hint of mockery. "I am saying that he will not appreciate you fancying his diva. In fact, I think he might start considering you a rival."

"That is…, " Ludwig struggled to find the right word, weighing the implications.

"Ludicrous?" offered Gilbert, mockery back in his eyes. "Sure, I believe you." he grinned, "And if I told you that this piece is scheduled in Opéra de Paris in two weeks, will I'll be seeing you off to France anytime soon?"

Having no suitable retort he could think of, the blonde started walking down the corridor, feeling his brother's silent but triumphant smile sticking to his back, following him as persistently as Felicita's eyes.


	2. BERLIN

1.

A week had passed and the only thing changing was Ludwig getting more and more angry with himself. He couldn't concentrate on work, couldn't eat or think without melodies from Roderich's opera playing out in his head. When he found a plane ticket Gilbert conveniently left on kitchen table he shoved it in a drawer, even then well aware he couldn't tear it up or leave it alone. He already knew he was going to fly to Paris, just like Gilbert knew, and that gnawed at him from the inside. The girl… nothing special about her, he didn't even speak to her for heaven's sake, but that voice… She unbelievingly resembled her grandfather, nobody could miss that even after just a passing glance at her. Is that why he thought about her so much? Because she reminded him of a face from portraits he grew up with?

He put a pen down and tiredly took off his glasses. Charts and numbers danced before his eyes, making no sense at all anyway. His brain wouldn't comply. He wanted to see her again, talk to her. It would have been so easy if he were like Gilbert. Gilbert never asked for permissions or pleaded for forgiveness, he had the world clearly drawn out in black and white, just like colors of his flag. He never doubted or pondered, he acted. He would never mope around endlessly, daydreaming like an idiot, avoiding his brother's smirks and his own gaze in mirrors.

Ludwig got up, walked over to a window and absently regarded the sight of industrial chimneys, railroad tracks and crowded streets below. He had wealth and power, a few would challenge him on that, but he had no class. He had been raised in countryside by a soldier. He learned a lot about hard work and diligence, but had missed out on fineries of a proper upbringing. He was crude, unrefined. Compared to Roderich… his thoughts trailed off as he met his own gaze in window glass. Eyes as blue and cold as steel glared back at him. What would he do with a small Italian girl anyway?

"Project going nowhere?" a voice behind him made him flinch. His brother was leaning over his paperwork, shaking his head.

"I am ironing out some details." Ludwig answered just to clear his throat. "It will be finished before the deadline."

"Well, knowing you…" Gilbert shrugged dismissively. "Anyway, I was planning on having a few drinks with Francis, I owe him for providing that opera ticket. Oh, did I forget to mention that to you?"

"You did, but I anticipated something of a sort after I saw the plane ticket you booked in my name." Ludwig growled. "You really are not going to let this go, are you?"

Gilbert winked, "Brother, this may be just the thing you need. Why not? Go, get the cute little thing, have your fun. Do you know people have been inquiring about your hmm preferences? No one has ever seen you court anybody yet!"

Ludwig snorted, "If it's Francis who's done the asking, he should first take a good look at his bigamist self. "

"Different people, different customs." the red eyed man snickered. "If I were you, I wouldn't waste a second fretting about this. The more time you waste, the more likely someone is picking that flower before you. Just think," he lowered his voice, "the next show is in Paris and Francis you so endearingly mentioned doesn't suffer from such indecisiveness, I assure you."

The blonde uncomfortably shifted, unsure whether to sit or stand. He put on his glasses again.

"I have work to do." he said flatly.

Gilbert continued, unperturbed. "Still, since Antonio is also tagging along, it would be nice for you to join us. Three is an unlucky number." He started putting on his gloves and walking towards the door. "You might want to meet him." he added before Ludwig could decline, "He is a legal custodian of a certain Romano."

A few seconds passed in silence and when he heard his brother put glasses back on table and switch off a table lamp, Gilbert smirked. His eyes had a smoldering shine to them.

2.

"That boy is a load of trouble, I tell you!" Antonio's hand slapped Ludwig's back again and again. The blonde sat stiffly beside him, striving to avoid drops of rum that was constantly on the verge of spilling from Antonio's free hand. He had just returned from weeks spent on high seas, his worn out boots and faded clothes still reeking of seaweed and leather baked in equatorial sun. "Trou-ble!"

From across the table Francis and Gilbert enjoyed the sight, sipping wine and beer respectively. They would exchange a few sentences from time to time, but it was plain to see what the main entertainment of the evening was.

"I tell you," he hooked an arm around Germany's neck, oblivious of his unease and bemused glances of other patrons, "If I had known what I was getting myself into, I never would have taken him off Roderich's hands!"

Ludwig tried to squirm free, earning new snickers from across the table. "So you made Roderich take him into the ensemble?"

"Not me."He pulled Ludwig even closer, as if he was about to share a big secret. On Antonio's tanned face, a pair of green eyes shone like jewels. They reminded Ludwig of a cat, an alley cat, one that couldn't be trusted. "It was Romano's idea. Hey, I can teach you a thing or two about honor, dignity and other blahblah," he babbled drunkenly and slammed a fist against his chest, "but that guy makes me look like a dilettante." He neared himself within inches from Ludwig, almost kissing him, his orbs wide and serious, "He would be in your face like this if you so much as looked at his sister!"

Having enough of the alcohol reek, Ludwig pushed him away. It was not a strong shove, but it almost tipped the Spaniard over and spilled him on the floor. Miraculously, he maintained balance and continued as if not even noticing.

"And his sister, the little Felicita…" he licked the rim his empty glass and gave a murky, lascivious grin.

"Easy on Felicita." Gilbert jovially intervened. "Somebody here is a little touchy when it comes to Venetian gems."

"Really?" Antonio's gaze was on Ludwig like a hawk's, "Hardly surprising! Who wouldn't like a piece of that sweet pie?"

The blonde pointedly ignored him, absorbed in contents of his beer jug.

"Is that so?" inquired Francis in his usual, nonchalant tone. "If that's the case, Paris will be more than honored to greet such a lady. Why, I must see the show myself and have the finest bouquet prepared for the prima donna. Roses for the rose."

"Haha, didn't you hear him?" the Prussian laughed, "Or would you enjoy that southern bumpkin slitting your throat between acts?"

"Mon dieu, how uncouth! Non, non, we don't do things that way here. I wouldn't dream of compromising a lady's reputation in the middle of an opera house. C_'_est absurde! There is a reason why a diva has her own boudoir." he winked at Gilbert, making them both leer. Antonio joined in a second later, his reactions slowed down by alcohol. Even so, he seemed the merriest of the three.

Abruptly, Ludwig stood up to leave, his patience drained. "Honesty, is there nothing else you ever talk about?" He reached for his coat and scarf.

"No need to get angry, mon chéri." Francis fiddled with one of his long locks that women seemed to find irresistible and looked up at him innocently, "Two gentlemen settle such issues in a civilized manner."

"There is no issue to settle!" Ludwig said louder than he intended and threw money on the table. "I have to get up early in the morning, so if you _gentlemen_ will excuse me…" In several long strides he was out of the door.

Moments later Antonio excused himself. Francis and Gilbert watched as he staggered towards restroom, his unreliable legs somehow managing to get him there. One could tell, just by looking at his gait, that he was a man who spent considerable amount of time pacing up and down heaving ship decks. It was a skill that came in handy in occasions like this.

The other two men waited for Antonio's back to disappear behind swinging restroom door.

"Ludwig is right, maybe a change of subject is due." Francis' voice lost all of its frivolity, his eyes their dazed expression.

Gilbert curtly nodded and straightened up in his chair. "Do you think his expedition was a success?" he indicated towards restroom door with his chin.

"With this and the one before," the Frenchman nodded, looking furtively around, "he is loaded. Seven galleons full of gold, at least." He took a sip of wine, letting the picture settle in other man's mind.

Gilbert whistled quietly, impressed. "Are you sure?"

"I have my resources." Francis smiled quizzically "Let's just say they have been very rigorously interrogated."

The silver haired man gave him a disbelieving look. "You did not! Somebody from Madrid court…?" Francis just smiled and raised his glass, offering a toast and Gilbert clinked his beer jug against it. "One of these days, when one of these cheated husbands catches you…"

"That is the double beauty of this game, mon cher ami, the real prize." Francis shot him a seductive smile, "Pleasure and suspense are two faces of the same precious coin." The weasel glance he cast in direction of restroom would have surprised anyone who only met him in salons or on idle garden strolls. "Do you think Ludwig took the bait?"

Gilbert paused, thinking. "You know what? I do believe he did. It is all working out well so far."

"And what about the girl?" Francis asked casually, but Gilbert knew better.

"He can have her. What? Is your appetite still not sated?" he smiled but his grin showed too much teeth to be humorous. He eyed him coldly, "I am not scheming against my own blood here, Francis, or are you forgetting that?"

"Non, non, désolé, you are right." he waved it off with a flick of a wrist, all gallant again, "Ludwig should also have his share of fun in this."

"Damn right he should!" Gilbert snarled and, seeing Antonio returning, shouted to the barkeeper, "Hey, one more round for this table and this one is on Antonio!"

"Bien!", the tanned youth promptly accepted, spinning on his heel to take in the whole room and throwing his hands in the air. "Make it a round for everybody!"

The two sitting friends looked at each other knowingly and then laughed, but laughter never touched their eyes.

3.

Outside, he could feel anger seeping through his pores. He was acting like a child. He was acting like a brute. He was acting like an idiot. Either he forgets about the opera and the girl right now and moves on with his life and his work, or he goes to Paris and… and…

He would think about that when the time comes.

And why not? Why was he so stubbornly fighting against this? He will go and give it another chance. Maybe he was mistaken in Vienna. Maybe he was vexing himself over nothing. Maybe he will be able to look into those eyes again and not shudder.

The tall figure showed hands inside his pockets and walked all the way home, lost in daydreaming, his footsteps lighter now the burden of a decision had been lifted off his shoulders.

Just a week to go, seven long days…


End file.
